Tony Montana: Scarface Part 2
by Dark Sploosh
Summary: The story of Antonio Montana. How he survived Sosa's hitmen. How he got his revenge. How he returned to power as the King of Coke. Chapter 6 is up!
1. Prologue: Fallen

Tony Montana

Scarface: Part 2

Prologue: Fallen

I am Antonio Montana. I am a political prisoner from Cuba. I am a drug kingpin. I killed my best friend, Manolo, just because my sister married him. And I'm a coke junkie. I'm pretty fucked up. In fact, ever since I hit the high-point of my life, everything's been going down-fucking-hill.

I did business with a Colombian kingpin called Sosa. But the asshole wanted me to kill a woman and some children, just so I could off this other guy. I fucked up the job, and Sosa got royally pissed.

So then I in my mansion, knowing that Sosa's cockroaches are coming for me. But what do I do? I snort a mountain of _yeyo_, that's what. That's when my sister, Gina comes into the room. She try to shoot me, she so fucking crazy over me killing Manny. Well, just my luck (if you could call it that) that one of Sosa's hitmen appears in my open window with a machinegun and blows Gina away.

I couldn't take that, so I ran up to the fucker and got his gun, and tossed him out my window. He falls into my pool, and I unload on the asshole. I fire the whole fucking clip into him, knowing he dead already. And I see more of them coming. I dropped the gun and went back into my room. And I see my kid sister, lying up against a chair, blood all over her. She shouldn't have died like that.

Gunshots come from outside my doors. And then I hear Chi Chi, banging on the door, begging for me to open up. But I ignore him. I'm too angry at that fucker Sosa for sending these assholes and killing Gina. Then another gunshot, and I look up at my security cameras and see Chi Chi sliding down the door, staining it with blood, and hitmen gathering around it.

I wasn't gonna die like this. I get up and get out my favorite gun from a cabinet in the wall. An M-16 GL. I load it, sputtering crap about that motherfucker Sosa and his fucking hitmen. When I'm done, I lift up the gun and walk over to the door. I aim it at the door and shout out, "Say hello to my little friend!"

Then I fire the grenade launcher. The door explodes, pieces of shattered wood flying everywhere amidst the screams of the hitmen, the smell of gunpowder, and the cloud of smoke.

"Okay, you want more?" I demand, stepping forwards as the smoke clears. Sosa's men are lying on the ground, squirming. No fucking mercy, I think to myself, and fire the machinegun into their backs. I get out on the balcony and there's one getting away to my left, so I blast him and he go flying over the railing. Then I blow away some more guys to my right, and down the stairs. One bullet from a assault rifle hits me in my shoulder, and I let go of the M-16 with my right hand, but my left hand keeps firing. I kill the guy, and then look down at the foyer.

There's more of them coming in, so I open fire, killing a few, but I run out of bullets. I try to reload, but a bullet gets me in my shoulder. I fall down as a hail of bullets starts to rip apart the railing and the pillars, and I pull a dead hitman over me for protection while I reload, ignoring the growing pain in my shoulder. I finish reloading after a few seconds, stand up, and fire at them, before launching a grenade.

The explosion blows smoke and rubble everywhere, and I kill almost all of them.

"Go ahead!" I shout, as more make their way in. One trys to hide behind a statue, and I fire at him. I miss, but I still feel the satisfaction of knowing that I'm kicking their asses. But I guess I got too overconfident, because suddenly there's at least ten of them, all firing at once. One bullet hits my arm and I drop the machine gun. More bullets hit me more times than I can count in my arms and chest.

"Fuck you!" I scream as more searing hot bullets hit me. "I'll take all your fucking bullets!"

But suddenly, someone's shouting _parrada, parrada!_ and then they all stop firing. I wonder what's going on, but I keep shouting that I'm gonna' take every bullet they fire at me. Then I feel something poke into my back. And then a deafening explosive crack. The worst pain I ever felt in my life strikes my lower back, and I scream in pain. And then I'm falling forwards, into the railing. It breaks and I fall off the balcony, slamming into the small pool of water at the bottom.

I realize all of the pain in my body, and can't move because of it. I know that I'm still alive, but the fucking hitmen must think I'm dead. I hold my breath underwater through all that pain, and see someone coming down the stairs out of the corner of my eye. It's the leader of Sosa's hit squad, that prick with the sunglasses. He's holding a smoking, double barrel shotgun. I can't believe I survived being hit by that.

They all start to leave through the front door, and that's when I make my move. I leap out of the water, ignoring the pain as best I can, and fall onto my stomach. I reach for the assault rifle by the nearest dead hitman, just as Sosa's men spin around. And I fire.

My shots hit two guys in the chest, and the leader ducks outside. I'm low enough to the ground to be a hard to hit target, and I quickly kill all the hitmen in the doorway.

Then the assault rifle runs out. The leader appears again, walking towards me slowly, reloading his shotgun. I get up and stagger up my stairs, back into my office. I expect the hitman to try to run after me, but he's still slowly walking, that expressionless face showing no signs of exhaustion.

I get back in my office, picking up my M-16 GL on the way, and fall onto my desk. My vision getting all blurry right now, and the pain in my fucking back ain't helping. I reach for more clips and a grenade, and then I turn around, trying to stay awake. I gonna' take that fucking hitman down.

I reload the gun, and then I look up and see the hitman standing in the door. He fires his shotgun, but it hits my desk, and a few pellets blast through, going through my legs. I fall down behind the desk, and then open fire through it. I can't tell if I'm hitting him or not, I just keep firing. And then I roll out from the desk and fire the grenade.

All I see is the smoke, and I wait to see if the fucking hitman's corpse is there, but it's not, even after the smoke clears. And then he's there again, reloading that fucking shotgun. The M-16 GL is out. I drop it, and then remember the pistol I still got in my suit. I reach in and pull it out, aim, and fire, just as the hitman sees what I'm doing.

My shot grazes the side of the hitman's head, and he drops the shotgun, falling backwards. He hits the ground, and I let out a small sigh of satisfaction.

Suddenly, I hear police sirens, see flashing blue lights coming from outside my window. I not gonna' get caught by the fucking police, so I crawl over to my window and fall out. I land in the bushes below, them taking my fall, and I pass out, my last thought being that I'm gonna' track that fucker Sosa down and make him pay.

Author's Note: Well, how was it? I put this section of the story in Tony's perspective, and it's supposed to be him telling the story like it's already happened. At some points however, it switches between the past tense and current tense (if current tense is a real term). This is because, with the way Tony talks, I figured that he'd keep switching the way he told the story. Anyway, from this point on, until the epilouge, the story will be written from a third-person viewpoint, seeing as how I find it easier to write that way. Anyways, please R&R!


	2. Chapter 1: Rebirth

Tony Montana

Scarface: Part 2

Chapter 1: Rebirth

"_Dr. Alexander Marco, please report to room 116."_

Dr. Marco looked up at the intercom from his cup of coffee. He hadn't been expecting to go to _that_ particular room for some time. The guy in it was screwed up pretty bad. Police had been able to identify him, and if it were not for his condition, he would have been in a prison somewhere, possibly serving life.

"_Dr. Alex Marco,"_ repeated the intercom, _"please report to room 116."_

"Yeah, I'm coming," Marco said to himself. He put the coffee down on the glass desk in front of him and got out of the chair. He walked down the shiny white hallway, taking in the smell of disinfectant. At the end of the hallway was the employee elevator. He called for it, and when it arrived, he stepped on, pressing the button labeled "2" as the doors closed. He fell the small movement in his stomach as the elevator went up. With a _ding_, the doors opened, and he stepped off.

Room 116 was just to his right, and he pushed open the door and walked in.

"What is it, Janice?" Marco asked the nurse in the room.

"Sir, the patient is waking up," she replied.

"Seriously?" he asked, although it didn't sound like he was too surprised.

Janice nodded. Marco took a look at the form lying on the hospital cot in front of him.

The man had been in bad shape when he arrived at the hospital 5 months ago. He had suffered numerous bullet wounds to his back, arms, legs, and chest. Most had passed clean right through him, but there were a few left over in his body to identify what had happened to him.

He had been hit with numerous automatic weapons, assault rifles most likely. And six shotgun pellets had been buried in his lower back, many more than that having passed through and out his stomach. The pellets had broken 12 bones, cracked a few vertebrae, and yet somehow managed to miss any and all vital organs. In short, it was a miracle that this man had lived.

If lived was the proper term. He had been in a coma and on life support ever since he had arrived. They had been debating on whether or not to pull the plug. Considering who the man was, there was enough legal evidence to tip the odds against him. But the courts were still debating it.

Now, however, he had finally awakened, and it was time to find out what had happened.

"Antonio Montana?" whispered Marco. "Can you hear me?"

Tony could hear the man, but he couldn't see him. He tried to reply "yes", but he couldn't get his mouth to move. The whole room was dark and blurry, and he was aware that he couldn't feel many parts of his body, nor could he move them. He strained to at least lip sync "yes" and after a few tries, managed it with some difficulty.

"Janice, he's responding," said the man, and then Tony's mouth seemed to loosed up, as well as his throat, and he said, "Yeah."

"And he's already gotten his voice back."

Slowly, Tony's eyes focused. He started to regain feeling in his body, but it was a painful feeling, and he half-wished he couldn't feel again.

"Who...are you?" moaned Tony, and the man, who Tony could now see, was scribbling something down on a notepad. Then he turned to a woman standing there and told her to leave the room for a moment. She disappeared from Tony's line of vision, and then it was just Tony and the man.

"I am Dr. Alexander Marco," he introduced himself.

"Where am I?"

"You are in the Bay Island Hospital in Miami, Florida. Do you remember anything?"

"Sosa."

"Who?"

"A-Alejandro...Sosa."

"Alejandro Sosa?"

"F-fucking prick. Kill him."

"Um...Mr. Montana," said Marco quickly trying to change the subject, "you do realize that as soon as you recover, you are probably going to have a trial. The police all know who you are and what you've done."

"Fuck it."

And then Tony fell unconscious. Marco sighed, and then left the room, scribbling down random notes.

For the next 8 months, Tony was either lying in a bed, or being visited by a psychologist. They thought that maybe they could find out what had happened that night, and how Tony had survived. They thought that it was some kind of medical miracle. Tony actually seemed to enjoy these sessions, and answered all questions well, having fully regained his ability to speak, although he was in his bed, his muscles having started to atrophy. One of the conversations went like this:

"Tony, do you remember what happened that night?" asked the psychologist.

"My sister was shot by the hitmen comin' after me, so I killed em'. Or tried to," he answered very matter-of-factly. He also did so with a slight smile, which was very unnerving.

"Yes, we found and identified the bodies of at least 30 men in your mansion. Most of them were known criminals and drug smugglers, and nearly all had military records."

"I don't give a shit about any of that."

"Tony, do you know who sent the hitmen after you?"

He paused for a second, as though debating whether or not to answer. Finally, he spoke. "Alejandro Sosa."

"That was the name you mentioned when you first woke up to Dr. Marco, correct?"

Tony nodded.

"Tony, Alejandro Sosa has been on the run from the authorities for at least four months. Ever since his cocaine smuggling ring was exposed to the world, he's been running from one place to another. But they'll get him. That must make you feel better, doesn't it?"

"Fuck no. Sosa deserves to die, and I'm gonna' be the one to send him to hell."

"Let's not talk like this Tony. As soon as you're well, you'll be heading straight to the courts. You will not have revenge, so just burn it into you brain."

Tony's face suddenly took on a contorted mask of rage. If he could have moved, he probably would have tried to strangle the psychologist. But after about a minute, he calmed down, and was silent.

"Well, Tony, how do you think you survived all of you wounds?"

"That? The rage, _chico._ Well, that and tons o' _yeyo_, you know what I'm saying?" And then he laughed. He was getting too much of a kick out of these questions, determined the psychologist after another 3 months of sessions. He suggested that Tony might have mental problems, perhaps caused by the extreme trauma of the event. But all tests proved that he was relatively sane.

Then, when the hospital declared that they would release Tony into the custody of the police in one week, he mysteriously disappeared from the hospital. Police searched all of Miami for him, and all of Florida. But it was as though Antonio Montana had disappeared from the face of the earth...

"Hey, Pablo," said Tony over the table, "don't fuck with me man. I know what you selling to me. And I need it bad. But you ain't demanding a fair price."

Tony was sitting in an abandoned building with one of the dealers who had been faithful to him during the time of his rise to power. Ever since he got out of the hospital, Tony had been about recruiting everyone who was still loyal to him, and knew how to use a gun. He was gonna' get an army together, and then go to war with Sosa, just like he had planned. Sosa had been on the run from police ever since the truth about him had been spoken about, but Tony's underground sources knew that Sosa still returned to his chateau in the jungle every now and then. And Tony was gonna' nail that fucker. But he needed men, money, and guns.

Pablo was now selling him 50 crates full of rocket launchers, machine guns, shotguns, magnums, sniper rifles, grenades, ammunition. Everything Tony would need. But Pablo apparently didn't see fit to haggle his outrageous price.

"Tony, I need this money bad. I'm in a shit load of debt, man."

"Then I tell you what. You sell these to me for the price I'm offering, _and _fight with me when we get Sosa, and I'll pay you out of any of your debts, man."

Pablo considered. He was pretty good with a gun, and confident that with the weaponry behind him, plus Tony and his little army, he had a decent chance of surviving. Finally, he agreed.

"Don't think I won't protect my investment, man," said Pablo as they shook hands.

"And don't think that I won't protect mine. I'll get the money to you by Friday, and then we see what we can do."

"When you gonna' need these delivered Tony? Where? The cops are all over your mansion. You got a safe house yet?"

"Yeah man, I do. I'll give you the address when I need the guns. See you later man."

Tony got out of the chair and walked out of the building. It was a warm night, and Tony enjoyed the sensation of the air blowing around him as he got into his car and drove off, ignoring the pain in his back when he did so.

The wound in his back had never fully healed, and never would. It would always hurt whenever he bent or flexed it, but not so much that he couldn't take it. He would do fine, he figured. He had grown accustomed to pain, and could easily shake off most of it. And if worst came to worst, a few painkillers and some coke always fixed him right up.

Tony had not gone 20 blocks when he noticed that there was a blue Cadillac behind him. It had been following him for the past 9 blocks, and continued to do so. Tony knew that something was wrong. He finally reached his safe house. Getting out of the car, he checked the handgun in his pocket to make sure he was ready. Then he hid in some nearby bushes, just as the Cadillac pulled up to the side of his house.

Suddenly, machine gun fire ripped through the night, tearing holes in the safe house walls. Windows shattered as bursts of flame exploded rapidly from the Cadillac. More hitmen. How had they found out where Tony's safe house was? Never mind that. He'd have to get a new one now.

The hitmen stopped firing, and all but the driver got out of the car. They walked up to the house and kicked down the door, filing inside one by one. Tony crept after them, taking special care not to be seen by the driver. When he was in the house, he moved into the living room, and hid behind the sofa. The hitmen were turning everything over looking for him.

"Dammit man, he ain't here!" declared one of the hitmen.

"You sure about that, _chico?_" shouted Tony. They all turned around just as Tony got up and fired. The handgun bullet hit the closest hitman in the head, and he fell backwards onto another. The rest opened fire, all of them carrying Uzis. Tony dived through the nearby doorway into the kitchen. He hid behind a counter top, firing a few shots into the living room, and managing to kill another hitman. Bullets ripped across the counter top and the tiles in the floor, and Tony fired back. He missed more, and ducked out through the back door. He ran into the street, firing at the doorway. Two more hitmen, the last of them, were killed as they tried to leave the house.

"Fuckers," muttered Tony as he reloaded the gun. Suddenly, he heard the screech of tires, and looked up. The Cadillac had rounded the corner and was speeding straight for him!

"Shit!" screamed Tony, and he fired two bullets at the car before diving out of the way. They cracked the windshield, but the car kept on going. The driver pulled up along side him. He was holding an assault rifle. Tony hid behind the side of the house as the shots ripped into the already bullet-ridden walls.

"DIE, DIE!" shouted Tony as the car drove off and spun around to make a second pass. But this time Tony was ready. He snatched up one of the dead hitman's Uzis. He opened fire on the front tires of the car as it drew nearer.

The tire was shredded by the bullets, and the car sped out of control. It flipped over and slid into a lamp post, and blew up.

Tony was just about to let out a victory cry, when he noticed that the driver of the Cadillac was still alive, and was crawling out of the burning car. He still had the assault rifle clutched firmly in his hand. He tried to get to his feet, and managed with some difficulty. But this small accomplishment was short-lived, as Tony finished the job and fired the rest of the clip into the driver. The assault rifle clattered to the pavement, and the man fell backwards, onto the wreckage, and lay there, his body slowly being devoured by flames.

Tony heard police sirens in the distance. He wasn't going to get caught now. He quickly ran back into the house, out the other door, and leaped over the fence. He ran down the dark alley, hoping that that was the last of the hitmen, but knowing that it wasn't.

Author's Note: There's the first chapter. It's got some action, so I hope you all like it. Please R&R!


	3. Chapter 2: Greed

Tony Montana

Scarface: Part 2

Chapter 2: Greed 

Pablo had helped Tony find a new safe house, one that Sosa's men where less likely to locate. Unfortunately, that also meant that it wasn't as cozy as the last one. The new safe house used to be a homeless shelter, and was now just an empty building. It was mostly concrete on the outside, yet nearly everything on the interior was made of wood, it seemed.

"What the fuck?" asked Tony when Pablo had first shown him inside.

"I now it's not home-sweet-home Tony," said Pablo quickly, "but it's safer. They'd never think that you'd be living in a old bum home."

Glancing at the cobwebs in all the corners and ceilings, the stagnant water pooling on the floor, and the numerous flies and maggots everywhere, Tony felt like he preferred a more dangerous hiding spot.

"If it makes you feel better, I can bring a sleeping bag and a flashlight," Pablo said.

"Yeah, sure," muttered Tony, not catching the fact that it was a joke. Pablo shrugged and started to leave, but on his way out he shouted back, "By the way, I've used this place for more than a safe house. Check under the trapdoor behind the counter."

Then the door closed, and Tony could here Pablo's car taking off. He walked over to the counter and took a quick look at it. It looked like there used to be some stools there, judging by the holes in the floor, and there were old, stained aluminum pots and pans lying everywhere. It was a soup kitchen.

Wading through the pots, pans, and cobwebs, Tony found the trapdoor. He wasn't sure what it had been used for when the place was a homeless shelter, but opening it up, he knew what Pablo had used it for. In the small space beneath the trapdoor, there was a small stash of guns. There were two Spaz shotguns, a handgun, three Uzis, and a grenade launcher. Not to mention plenty of ammo for each. Pushing it all aside, he found ten keys of coke, all bundled together in a small open suitcase.

Tony resisted the urge to take some right now. He needed some quick money to get by, since now that he was known about, he had lost virtually all of his cash. That was part of the reason why he had wanted to negotiate paying Pablo's gun money after he had killed Sosa. By then he would have enough.

He decided to keep one key for himself and sell the rest. But he would need buyers. Pablo was really only good for weapons dealing, so he needed someone else. If Manny were here...

"Dammit," whispered Tony, shaking the thoughts of his dead friend from his mind and trying to concentrate on the task at hand...

An hour later, Tony had figured out what to do. He pulled out the cell phone that Pablo had given him, cursing the damn thing for being so big. He punched in a number, and then waited. The phone ringed twice before being picked up.

"Hello?" came the voice of a man. He had a thick British accent.

"Alan," greeted Tony.

"Holy shit Tony, is that you? I read about your escape from that hospital in the paper. The cops are everywhere looking for you!"

"Yeah, I know. Listen Alan, I need a favor."

"A favor?"

Alan was a British criminal who had come to Miami roughly ten years ago. He had spent most of his time selling any kind of drug that anyone else would buy. As a result, he had quite a bit of money. He, like Pablo, had helped Tony out during his rise to power, albeit mostly for the money involved. Alan was just the kind of guy that Tony needed right now.

"Yeah," said Tony. "I need some cash right now, and-"

"Tony," interrupted Alan," you know I don't lend out money."

"I don't need your money man, I need your help. I got some _yeyo_ from Pablo, and I need buyers."

"How much you got to sell?"

"Nine keys."

"Nine, eh? Hmm..." There was a long pause as Alan debated what to do. Finally, he answered back. "I'll buy three of them. I know a guy who'll buy the other six, too. And I'm sure that I could get you someone to launder the cash as well."

"Thanks man, where you want to meet?"

"My place, bring all the coke."

Then the line went dead. Tony put away the phone and then went back over to the stash. He closed the briefcase with the coke and picked it up, and, just to be on the safe side, took one of the shotguns and a box of shells as well. Then he walked outside into the alley and made another call, this time to Pablo.

"What do you want, Tony?" asked Pablo, perplexed.

"I got Alan to buy some of the coke you left me, but I need a ride."

"Right, I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

Tony put away the phone and waited.

Fifteen minutes later, Pablo pulled up next to the alley in a red Chevy Impala. Tony climbed in with the coke and shotgun. As they started to drive, Pablo spoke.

"Why did you bring a gun Tony? You don't trust Alan anymore?"

"No, I just don't trust people I don't know. He didn't mention the name of this guy I'm supposed to deal with, so I probably don't know him."

"Yeah, well if someone opens fire on my ass, I expect you to pull through for me."

"Sure, _Chico_," said Tony as he stared out the window of the car.

It was dark by the time they reach Alan's flat. It was small and simple, and Tony had always wondered why Alan hadn't spent more money on a better place. As Pablo and him walked through the doors, they saw Alan sitting down to dinner in the kitchen.

"Hey, my little friends! How are we tonight?"

"Okay," replied Pablo. Tony remained silent, however, as they sat down.

Alan was a heavyset man in his mid forties. He always dressed in simple clothes, another thing he didn't spend much money on. Tonight he was wearing a blue sweater and a pair of cheap jeans. His orange hair was starting to disappear, as his scalp was easily visible through the small patch of hair he had combed over it. He smiled at them with tobacco stained teeth.

"So Tony, what do you want for three of these?"

"$60,000," said Tony in a tone that clearly said that there would be no haggling. Alan didn't even pause to consider this time. He instantly shook Tony's hand and produced a briefcase of his own. He spent a few minutes taking some wads of cash out, and then handed the case to Tony.

"I think there's $60,000 in there, but why don't you double-check?"

Tony did, and after being certain that there was enough, he closed it up and handed Alan three packets of _yeyo_.

"You said you knew who would buy the rest of this?" asked Tony.

"Yeah. Some guy I met a month or so ago. He's really rich, and really desperate for some of this shit. He'll buy six keys no problem."

"Who is he?" questioned Pablo.

"Guy by the name of Danny McCloud. He lives over on the other side of town though. By the docks."

"Well let's go then, I want to sell these tonight."

"Hold on Tony! Danny may be completely fucked up sideways most of the time, but he can still shoot a gun straight enough, and he doesn't like trespassers!"

"Which is why you're coming with us," said Tony.

"I can't go! What the fuck, I met him last month, and he was high the whole time! He won't even remember me!"

"Alan, shut the fuck up and come on."

Alan realized that his situation was hopeless.

"You owe me," muttered Alan in what might be considered a menacing tone.

"He's lives in that boathouse there," pointed out Alan as they reached the pier. It was an abysmal sight. The old aluminum and wood boathouse had seen better days. It was caked with rust and falling apart, slightly tilted to one side.

"If he's so rich, why does he live in this piece of shit?" queried Pablo.

"Well," said Alan, "he doesn't really live here. But his bitch of a wife keeps kicking him out of the house, and he stays here until she calms down."

As they walked through the door, there was a sudden clicking noise, and then two shots rang out. Instinctively, Tony drew the shotgun and jumped back outside.

"Danny!" shouted Alan, "it's me!"

Silence. And then, "Get the fuck in here."

With some hesitation, all three men entered. A light suddenly flicked on. The interior of the boathouse wasn't much prettier than the outside. In the small opening to the bay on one side of the room, there were two small boats bobbing lazily in the dark water.

Standing behind a small table in the middle of the boathouse was a man holding a smoking handgun. He had short, blonde hair and a clean-shaven face. He was well built, wearing a sleeveless white T-shirt that showed off his muscles. He was wearing denim jeans with another handgun in one of the pockets.

"What d'you want, Brit?" asked the man, apparently Danny, in a deep voice. He had large bags under his eyes, which were almost completely full of criss-crossing red cracks. He had needle pricks and sores all over his arms. He was coked up to the max. And, as Tony got a better look at him, that wasn't all. His muscles were too big. Unnaturally big. He was on steroids too.

"Please don't call me Brit, Danny," asked Alan as he sat down on a nearby stool. Pablo walked back outside, muttering something about it being hot in the boathouse. Tony stood still, the shotgun aimed at Danny's chest.

"I'll call you whatever I want," warned Danny. "Why the fuck are you here?"

"I was just wondering if you'd like to make a deal."

"What're you selling?"

"It's not me, it's my friend here, Tony."

Danny took a good look at Tony.

"Hey, I know you! You're that drug kingpin guy! You're the one that got out of that hospital!"

"Yeah," said Tony uncaringly.

"Well then," said Danny, putting away the gun. "What do you got for me?"

"Six keys of pure coke," said Tony, slowly putting away the shotgun.

"Six keys? Damn, I'd take 'em all, except that my funds are a little..." He drew in a deep breath here. It was obvious that he couldn't afford it.

"I thought you said this guy had lots of money, man," said Tony, turning to Alan.

"W-well, I-"

"Hey now," said Danny, "I didn't say I was broke! I can take four keys right now, I'd estimate, but you'd have to wait until I get more cash before I can buy the last two."

"$80,000," said Tony.

"Fuck that!" exclaimed Danny suddenly. "$70,000!"

"$75,000!" Tony haggled.

"Hey Tony, I got a better idea," said Danny suddenly. He whistled. A nearby door opened up, and two guys with Uzis suddenly stepped out. "How's about I just take them?" He drew both his handguns.

"Fuck," muttered Tony. He couldn't reach the shotgun on his back before getting full of holes.

"Now, you can take $70,000 Tony, or you can take a bullet instead. Want me to decide for you?"

"Alan, if I live through this, remind me never to listen to you again."

Alan didn't reply.

Tense seconds passed. No one moved.

"Alrighty then," said Danny, "I guess I will decide after all!"

He prepared to open fire, when another shot rang out. A glass window nearby exploded, and a red hole appeared in the chest of one of the goons. As he collapsed dead, Danny looked around in surprise. Tony quickly used the opportunity to duck behind a nearby crate. He saw Alan run outside just as Danny and the remaining goon figured out what was going on, and fired. As the bullets riddled the crate, Tony drew his shotgun and pumped it. He stood up and fired at Danny, but missed. Danny ducked behind the table and flipped it over.

"Fine fucker, we'll play!" he shouted out. Tony hid as more bullets flew towards him. The crate couldn't take much more. Suddenly, Pablo dashed into the boathouse with a handgun, and shot the other goon. He fell forward, into the water with a splash. Pablo quickly hid behind another crate as Danny's bullets rained down. It was Pablo who had killed the one goon through the window.

"I thought I was supposed to get your back!" shouted Tony.

"Yeah, but now you owe me two!" replied Pablo.

Tony pumped the shotgun in reply.

"Nobody fucks with Tony Montana and lives," he whispered.

Author's Note: Another day, another chapter. The next chapter will be virtually all action, but in the meantime, please R&R!


	4. Chapter 3: Darkness

Tony Montana

Scarface: Part 2

Chapter 3: Darkness

Tony stood up and fired 2 blasts into the table when he was sure that Danny had paused to reload. Wood chips flew everywhere as Danny grabbed the suitcase full of coke that had fallen to the floor and ran out the door that his goons had come from.

"Let's go!" shouted Tony to Pablo, and they started for the door.

"Hey Tony!" Tony turned around to see Alan there again. "What do you want me to do?"

"Guard our coke, man!" he ordered. Then he ran through the door, followed by Pablo. And they found themselves outside, surrounded by at least ten more goons.

"Hey Tony, I like you," laughed Danny, who was there near a boat, "but I need some of that shit man, real bad." He turned to one of his goons. "You guys know what to do." And then he got in the boat with the coke and sped off, into the foggy night.

Tony was a little more concerned about their present situation. The guards all had handguns, Uzis, and one had a sniper rifle. The chances of Tony being able to shoot one and then get to a hiding spot were nonexistent. Suddenly, out from the shadows, stepped Alan. He was holding a small machine pistol, and pointing it at Tony and Pablo.

"Sorry guys, but I want to live," he said in a clearly frightened voice. He was shaking and sweating real bad.

"Fucking traitor," muttered Tony.

"It's nothing personal!"

Danny's goons, however, were confused.

"Listen, I'll pay you all twice as much as what Danny's paying if you all work for me!" Alan offered. Twice the pay was always good, and Danny's goons realized it.

"Now, lower your guns," he ordered. He still had his machine pistol trained on Tony, though. "I want to do this myself."

Slowly, they all obeyed. And that's when Alan quickly shot the nearest one in the back. As he collapsed, Tony and Pablo hid behind a forklift, and Alan ran off, shouting, "You guys owe me!"

"Quite the actor, ain't he?" shouted Pablo as the goons figured out what was going on and opened fire on the forklift.

"Yeah," replied Tony. He poked his head out and fired at one of the remaining guards, getting him in the chest. As he was blown backwards, Pablo joined in the fight as well, firing his handgun. Tony ran out from behind the forklift, firing. He missed, and jumped behind a crate. One of the goons managed to shot him in the arm as he ran, however, and he now winced in pain as blood seeped through his shirt. He looked back at the forklift, and noticed that it was carrying a crate labeled, "EXPLOSIVES!"

"Pablo, look out!" shouted Tony, and he fired as his friend got out of the way. The shot hit the brake holding the forklift in place, and it started to roll towards the goons. A few got out of the way in time, but the rest weren't so lucky as the forklift hit a bump and fell over, and the crate fell with it. Tony fired at the crate, and it blew up. The forklift, along with a few goons, was lifted into the air. It came crashing back down with a loud scraping noise, and then the fire caught onto the rest of the crates nearby. Soon, the whole boathouse would be on fire.

"Pablo, you go back to the safe house and wait for me!" shouted Tony.

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm getting our shit back."

Tony hopped into one of the speedboats there and turned it on. He flipped on the fog lights and then sped off. If Danny was going anywhere, then it probably would have been one of the stilt houses out on the bay. Tony turned for them, and drove on. About a minute later, he saw the silhouette of the floating wooden buildings through the gloom. And he spotted Danny's boat, parked by one of them. Danny was getting out, and there were more goons with him. He turned and saw Tony coming, and ran off, up the stairs and into the house.

There were two goons standing on the small pier there, each with Uzis. As they fired, and bullets bounced off the dashboard of the boat, Tony went as fast as he could, aiming right for the pier. And when he hit it, the boat was launched into the air, over the pier. He hit one of the goons, plowing him underneath the boat where he was crushed. As the boat came to a stop on the wreckage of the pier, Tony spun and fired a shotgun shell into the remaining goon. He was lifted into the air and into the water. But he had dropped his Uzi on the pier. Tony took it and put the shotgun away.

He ran up into the stilt house, and was greeted by a handgun blast from Danny which barely missed his head.

"Dammit, Tony! Can't you die?"

Tony fired back at Danny, who was hiding behind a small shelf. A few bullets ricocheted off the metal shelf, but one hit Danny in the gut.

"Fuck!" he screamed, and then he picked up the shelf. Using his steroid induced strength, he tossed it at Tony. Tony had to leap out of the way to avoid it as it came down and blocked off the exit. Tony turned back to fire at Danny, but he had run out through another door.

Tony followed, and found himself outside again. Standing below the small balcony he was on was Danny, firing his handguns like there was no tomorrow. One went into Tony's leg, and he screamed, falling to the floor. Tony fired the Uzi until there was nothing left in it. Three bullets struck Danny in the chest, and he dropped one of the handguns. But in his drug-induced state, he was still going. He had set down the briefcase earlier, and he now picked it up and held it in front of himself like a shield.

"Tony, this is six keys right here! This is a lot of money, man!"

Tony paused for a second. But that was all it took for Danny to fire the other handgun. Unfortunately for him, he missed, and Tony retaliated by drawing his shotgun and firing the last shot. The pellets spread and went through the brief case. They all entered Danny's head and chest, and he fell backwards. As he landed in the water with a splash, the briefcase came open, and the coke spilled into the bay. The water turned red and white. The _yeyo_ was lost.

"Shit!" shouted Tony. He stared at Danny's bobbing corpse for a few seconds, and then grabbed one of his handguns. He decided to keep it as a trophy.

An hour later, Tony showed up at his safe house. He stumbled through the door, bleeding and broken. Pablo was there, and he ran over to Tony.

"Jesus Tony, you okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine man," he lied. "Just get me some coke."

Pablo got some from the key that Tony had kept for himself, and gave it to Tony. He snorted it, and then told Pablo to get a knife.

"Why?" he asked even as he got a blade.

"I think there's a bullet in my leg. Cut it out." He gritted his teeth for the pain.

Pablo wasn't a medical expert, but he had done this a few times. On himself, anyway. He bent over and cut into the bleeding area on Tony's right leg. He could hear Tony wincing, so he worked faster. He found the bullet, and pulled it out. He quickly reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of bandages. He fixed up Tony's leg, and then after Tony rested for awhile, he turned to Pablo and asked, "Why do you carry bandages in your pocket?"

"I get shot a lot."

_1 month later..._

Despite the loss of so much coke, Tony used what money he had made from Alan to fix up his safe house. He bought a couch and a TV, and a small refrigerator. He got one of Pablo's friends, who didn't have a known criminal record, to say that he had bought the safe house and was paying for the electricity. Tony sent him enough for the bill every month.

Word had spread quickly in the underworld that Antonio Montana was alive and kicking. Tony soon got offers from hundreds of crooks, small and large, some he knew some he didn't, to work for him. And bingo, he had an army.

It was one night as he was lying on his couch, watching "Miami Vice", that he had gotten the idea for a checklist. He had a small pad of paper in his left hand, a blue ballpoint pen in his right. This is what the list looked like right now:

Killing Sosa 

Get money, check

Get weapons, check

Get army, check

Get bullet-proof vests (a lot of them)

Get planes

Get a better fuckin' safe house

As Tony sat and thought of other things to add to the list, he heard a knocking on his door. He reached into his pocket and drew his handgun, and walked over to the door. He stood to the side of it.

"Who's there?"

"Tony, it's Pablo."

Tony put the gun away and opened the door. Pablo walked in hurriedly, shutting the door hard behind him.

"Tony, I got a sweet deal. Listen, we ain't got no coke anymore, right?"

"Yeah, so?"

Pablo opened up the fridge, took a beer, and saw down on the couch.

"Why are you watching this shit, Tony?"

"Hey, fuck you Pablo. It's a good show."

"It's about cops. Our enemies, _chico_."

"Man, Sosa's our enemy. Cops are like the wolves, man. They aren't ever your enemy until you piss them off. Or break the law."

"Big fuckin' deal."

"Plus, I won't kill no cop."

"I will."

"Well, that's you. So what about this "sweet deal?" Tony said the words in a mocking impression of Pablo's weird Spanish accent.

"Fuck you, Tony. Listen, we need body armor, right?"

"Yeah man. Like, a few hundred vests."

"Well get this. This guy, I don't know his real name, he just calls himself Mr. Bob, and-"

"What the fuck? Mr. Bob?"

"Yeah, so anyways, he has an entire warehouse full of vests, man. He like, used to work for the army, or something. And get this, he doesn't want any cash for them."

"What's he want then? Drugs?"

"Bingo, man!"

"We don't got no _yeyo_ now, man."

"I know that, but he don't want no _yeyo_. He's got it for the two other members of the triad. Heroin and grass."

"Well we don't got any of those, either."

"You don't, but Alan does. I figure that we should go pay him a visit, get some of that shit, then get over to Mr. Bob and get the vests."

Tony considered it for a minute. Alan would definitely charge them for the drugs, so they would be losing money to get the vests anyways. Finally, he muttered, "let's go man."

Author's Note: Well...I don't have much to say except R&R!


	5. Chapter 4: Mr Bob

Tony Montana: Scarface Part 2

Dark Sploosh

Author's Note: Well, it has been forever hasn't it? Well, never fear. I'm not giving up on this story at all. I've just been real busy lately. Oh yeah, in case no one has noticed yet, one of my main inspirations for this story is the movies "Hard Boiled" and "The Killer", both directed by John Woo. Woo's gunfights are some of the best action scenes in cinema history, IMO, and I like to place such fights in my stories. Anyway, enjoy this next chapter...

Chapter 4: Mr. Bob

Tony walked over to the trapdoor behind the counter and opened it up. He wasn't going to bring a shotgun this time. Instead, he grabbed the 9mm handgun and three clips for it. He loaded it and slid it into his pants pocket. He also grabbed Danny's handgun off the shelf. It was a .45 semi-automatic. But what was real cool about it, and what Tony hadn't noticed when he was fighting Danny because of the dark, was that it was gold. It was one of the most badass guns Tony had ever seen, and he wished he had taken the other one, too. He loaded it and placed it in his other pocket, and finally reached for one of the Uzis in the compartment, loaded it, and slid it into the vest he was wearing.

"I'm ready, you need anything?" Tony asked Pablo.

"No man, I got my gun in the car."

"Right, let's go."

They left, Tony making special care to lock the door behind him, and they got in Pablo's car. Lying in the backseat was a big SWAT pump-action shotgun, the kind with the stock and shoulder strap.

"Where'd you get that thing, man?" asked Tony as Pablo started up the car and they left.

"Oh that thing? I got it off a dead SWAT guy last week."

"Fuck, you killed a cop?"

"Tony, man, c'mon. Not all of us have as many morals you do, _chico._"

Tony didn't respond. He just shook his head and stared in the rearview mirror.

"Tony, you want how much?" asked Alan incredulously.

"You heard me, Alan."

"That's a lot of grass and heroin, man. I mean, you're the coke king, right? Why do you need this stuff?"

"Are you gonna' debate what drugs I do and don't buy, or are you gonna' sell it to me?"

"Well, okay man. Hang on a sec."

Alan got off the stool he was on with some difficulty, and disappeared into a back room. He returned ten minutes later with two suitcases. He set them down on the table.

"This one's weed," he said, tapping the one on the left, "and the one on the right's heroin. Don't tell me what you need this much for, just give me the cash."

Tony opened the cases and checked them. It was good.

"Pablo, give him his money."

Pablo lifted the suitcase they had brought with them and set it on the table in front of Alan. Alan checked it, and a big evil grin spread across his ugly face.

"Thanks Tony, we have to do business again some other time."

"Whatever man. Let's go Pablo."

They left, Tony looking behind himself. After the stunt Alan had pulled at the docks, even if it was just a ruse to save their skins, Tony always looked back when leaving Alan's to make sure he didn't wind up with a slug in his back.

"This is it," announced Pablo as they pulled up to a big warehouse. They were near a military base on the outskirts of Miami. Tony was nervous about being so close to any place with the army nearby, so he his eyes darted around the empty parking lot as they neared the warehouse. There was a door on the outside, and they slipped in.

The warehouse was lit up like a Christmas tree on the inside. There were lights everywhere, making sure no corner of the warehouse was dark. At the far end of the mostly empty room was a desk. There was a man sitting in a chair behind it.

"Hey Pablo!" called the man. His voice was high-pitched, almost feminine. As Tony got closer, he saw why. The man was dressed in drag, with a long red dress, mascara, false eyelashes, long red nails, and pink lipstick hastily applied to his lips. He smiled at them and gestured for them to sit down at the two chairs in front of the desk.

"This fag's Mr. Bob?" whispered Tony out of the corner of his mouth.

"Yeah. I know he don't look like he was in the army, but trust me, this guy's got what we need."

They sat down, and Mr. Bob snapped his fingers. Two burly bodyguards in green suits walked out of a small room in the corner. They were both armed with AK-47 assault rifles. They stood on either side of Mr. Bob. Bob himself gave out a high-pitched squeaking noise and then leaned forwards in his seat, eying Tony in a way that made him very uncomfortable.

"Well well welly, Pablo honey. You didn't tell me that Tony Montana was such a cutie."

"He's not interested Bob."

"Oh, that's too bad."

Tony couldn't take much more of this. Mr. Bob seriously weirded him out. He wanted to get this deal over with as fast as possible.

"Bob, we've got two full cases here, both of 'em with the shit you like," said Tony quickly as he set the suitcases down on the desk. Mr. Bob checked them and then gave out a squeal of delight.

"Oh, this is perfect! I think I love you Tony!"

"Oh fuck this!" exclaimed Tony, getting to his feet. "Just tell us how many vests we can get for this shit, give it to us, and then we're out of here."

"Oh alright, party pooper," said Mr. Bob in a mock sad voice. "I'll give you maybe eighty vests for this here. I'm giving them away cheap."

"Fine, where are they?"

Before Mr. Bob could answer, a bullet shot into the desk, narrowly missing Tony's face. Instinctively, Tony reached into his vest, grabbed his Uzi, spun around, and fired into the rafter above. There was a scream, and then a body fell from above, crashing to the ground. The clatter of a sniper rifle followed him.

"Fuck, Tony, it's a hitter!" shouted Pablo.

"Goddamn, how do these guys keep finding me!" cursed Tony. Suddenly, a jeep burst through the wall, with at least six hitmen on it.

"Ah! Boys, get me out of here!" screamed Bob. The bodyguards grabbed him and disappeared through a door, locking it behind them.

"Fuck you Bob!" screamed Tony as he and Pablo hid behind the desk. Tony dove out and slid along the ground, firing the Uzi. He killed two hitmen, but the rest of the shots missed. As Tony came to a stop, he jumped up and rolled behind one of the supports for the rafters. They would have to kill the hitters to escape.

He saw Pablo get one with his shotgun, leaving only three. The Uzi was empty, so Tony dropped it and reached into his pants for the handguns. He dove out from behind, firing the handguns without really aiming. As luck would have it, one struck the jeep's gas tank, and it exploded, finishing the rest of the hitmen. However, the explosion set the warehouse on fire.

"Let's go Pablo!" shouted Tony, and they ran out through the hole in the wall the jeep had made. They got in Pablo's car and drove off.

"Fuck! How come nearly every deal I make ends this way! Miami's full of a bunch of fuckers!" Tony kicked hit the dashboard out of frustration.

"Hey man, don't take it out on my baby!" pleaded Pablo. Tony ignored him. He had lost the money, and now they didn't have the vests either.

"I'm gonna' find Bob and get those vests, even if it kills me."

"It probably will, man," warned Pablo.

Tony shrugged and started at the road.

End Note: Well, I'm finally back, and hopefully with a bang as well! Please RR!


	6. Chapter 5: Speed

Tony Montana: Scarface Part 2

Dark Sploosh

Author's Note: After another long break, I bring you the next chapter in Scarface 2! (It would have been an even longer wait, but I was playing Vice City recently and it inspired me to write the next chapter). Please enjoy.

Chapter 5: Speed

Tony heard his cell ring and he reached into his pocket and grabbed it. He and Pablo were still driving away from Mr. Bob's warehouse, and Tony was in no mood for any shit.

"Who the fuck is this?" Tony asked.

"This is Mack Vernhoff," said the voice of a man on the other line, "I presume this is Tony Montana?"

"How'd you get my number?" Tony demanded.

"Easy man, those of us in the same business have ways, correct? Anyways, I'm calling you to let you know that I've been watching you Tony. Now, I don't care what delusions you have, but if you want to get back to the way you were, you're gonna have to work for some people."

"I work for no one except myself, understand?"

"Tony, please, hear me out. So what if half the gangsters in Miami want to work for you. So what if you _were_ the King of Coke? The point is, you're gonna' have to face some facts. You're small time now."

Tony didn't reply. He was ready to toss the phone out onto the road.

"Tony, just come work for me for a bit, I think you'll find it worth your while. I'm at 1136 East Shore Street in downtown. Come by and visit me some time."

"Maybe," said Tony, and then hung up.

"What was that about?" asked Pablo.

"Some guy called Mack Vernhoff just asked me to work for him. Fuckhead."

"Mack Vernhoff? Damn Tony, I think should accept. Ever since you, uh, fell down the criminal stepladder, Vernhoff's been one of the foremost crime bosses in the city. Rumor has it that he has ties to the Mafia even."

"The Mafia, huh?" asked Tony.

"Yeah. Why don't you just check it out Tony?"

Tony stared at the dashboard for a good time, debating what to do. If he accepted, he may lose reputation as a master instead of a follower. Then again, maybe working for this Vernhoff guy would help him get back to where he used to be faster. Finally, Tony decided.

"We'll leave tomorrow," he announced.

The next day, at noon, Pablo got Tony and they set off for the address that Vernhoff had left. It was a much better place than Tony's safe-house. A two story luxury condo with a garden and an underground swimming pool. As Tony got out of Pablo's car, he told him to wait in the car, in case anything goes wrong.

"Okay man, but take this." Pablo opened the glove box and pulled out a Colt .45 handgun. He handed it to Tony and wished him good luck. Tony nodded, slid the gun into his suit, and entered the front yard.

"Hey, Tony, get over here." Tony looked to his immediate right as he entered the yard to see a man dressed in a blue suit with short brown hair relaxing in a lawn chair. Tony approached the man, who held out his hand. Tony shook it.

"You Vernhoff?" Tony asked.

"Please, call me Mack," he insisted.

"Fine, Mack. What do you want? I can't stay in public for very long."

"You have nothing to worry about Tony. All the cops patrolling this and every nearby block are on my payroll. You don't have to worry about them."

Tony almost laughed at that. Despite last night's phone conversation, he had decided that he already liked Mack.

Mack reached into his suit and pulled out a cell phone. He dialed a number and waited. Then, into the phone, he said, "I've got Montana. He'll be meeting you as planned. You've got everything ready? Good." He hung up the phone and looked at Tony. "I'm sorry that we have to get down to business so soon, but what I need done needs to happen now. Have you heard of the gang of Cuban refugees that has been waging war with me recently?"

"No," Tony replied.

"Well, they keep ruining my business around Miami. I have a lot of buyers and merchandise I need to get around town. However, the Cubans have been making things difficult. They keep hijacking my shipments and taking what they find for their own. Tony, one of the Cuban gang leaders is currently at a diner near Freedom Town. I would like it if you could put him out of commission."

"What do I get for this?" Tony asked.

"Hmm, I've got something good in mind. I'd rather keep it a surprise. For now, I have a friend of mine, named Carl, who is waiting for you near the diner. He's in a red Ferrari. Meet up with him, and he'll explain the rest. Good luck, Tony."

"Alright, but that surprise better be good."

Tony left the yard and got into Pablo's car.

"You know where the diner is near Freedom Town?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Take us there."

When they arrived, Tony immediately spotted the Ferrari in the alleyway behind the diner.

"Pablo, go back to the safe-house and wait for me," Tony instructed as he got out.

"Just be careful _chico_."

As Pablo took off, Tony cautiously approached the car. Sitting in the front seat was a tall black man in a red Hawaiian shirt and jeans.

"You Carl?" Tony asked.

"Only if you're Tony," he replied.

"Yeah. How we gonna' do this?"

Carl motioned for Tony to get in. As he did so, Carl popped on the radio to a rock station.

"Okay man, see, we can't actually kill him when he's in the diner, cause someone will probably call the cops and we don't need that shit. We wait for him to leave, get in his car and drive off. Then we follow and drive-by his ass into oblivion. Okay?"

"Fine, you gonna' drive?"

"Yeah. Oh, take this." Carl reached under the seat and pulled out an Uzi. Tony grabbed it and got ready. Five minutes later, the gang leader left the diner and got into his car. From what Tony could see, there were three other gang members in the car, one of which was the driver. As the car started to pull away, Carl floored the pedal. The Ferrari shot forwards and Tony was pushed against his seat by the inertia as the tires burned out. Almost instantly, they were side-by-side with the gang car, and Tony opened fire.

The first burst shattered the rear windows and hit one of the gangsters in the back seat, exposing the leader. He cursed in Spanish and drew a handgun from his pocket. Tony ducked as the leader returned fire. He blind-fired another burst, doing nothing more than putting holes in the car.

The sounds of people on the street screaming could be heard now, and both vehicles swerved into an alleyway. The gang car was in front now. Carl rear-ended the vehicle a few times to shake the gunmen inside off guard as Tony emptied the rest of the clip, shattering the rest of the windows and killing the remaining passenger gangster.

As the cars left the alley and became parallel to each other again, Tony drew the handgun Pablo had given him and fired three shots. None hit any of the targets, but the engine was damaged, and black smoke now bellowed from the hood of the car. Tony looked in the rear-view mirror and cursed. Another gang car was on them.

"Carl, we got more behind us!" Tony shouted. Carl, however, had already drawn a Ingram sub-machine gun and was firing behind them and checking every now and then to make sure they didn't crash.

Tony was just about empty when he managed a lucky hit. He hit the driver in the head, and then shifted his aim to the wheels, finishing the clip to blow the back tires out.

"Carl, look out!" Tony warned. Carl looked ahead, and swerved out of the way just in time as the driverless car with no back wheels skidded to it's side and flipped over. The rear gang car didn't see it until Carl and Tony had swerved, and they crashed into it, sending their car flying as well. The leader's car exploded and slid to a stop, now a stationary ball of burning metal.

There were cop sirens in the distance.

"Let's get out of here," Carl suggested, already turning down an alleyway.

Carl dropped him off back at Mack's condo. As they got out of Carl's car, Mack walked out of the condo to greet them.

"Hello guys. I trust everything went well?"

"Yeah," Tony replied, "the leader's in hell."

"Good," Mack said happily. "Maybe now they'll think twice before they steal from Mack Vernhoff!"

"I'm out of here," announced Carl, already half-way to his Ferrari. "Good to see ya Mack."

As he drove off, Mack shook his head.

"Never takes credit, that guy. He's been my friend for years, and is about as loyal a guy you can find."

"What about my reward?" asked Tony, changing the subject.

"Ah yes. Follow me."

Mack led Tony to a large garage near the condo. They entered through a side door. Tony looked around and then broke into an appreciative smile.

"Damn, that's a fine car," he said of the metallic blue Corvette Stingray now in front of him.

"Yes, it is. It was given to me by a dear friend recently who passed away on a job for me. However, I've decided to give it to you, seeing as how you lost your last vehicle to the hands of Sosa's hitters."

"Thanks a lot man," Tony said, still in awe. "This is a beautiful piece of machinery."

"Think of it as a symbol of our partnership. You can take it right now if you want." Mack handed him the keys. Tony took them, said goodbye, and left. Maybe working for Mack wasn't such a bad idea after all.

End Note: Well, I think this chapter was a lot like Vice City (what with the car chase and drive-bys) but, you know, that makes sense because of what I said in the author's note. Anyways, please R&R!


	7. Chapter 6: War Declaration

Tony Montana  
Scarface Part 2

By Dark Sploosh

Chapter 6: War Declaration

Tony was asleep on his couch when his cell phone rang. He fumbled for the phone for a second before answering it.

"Yeah, who is this?" he asked sleepily.

"Tony, it's Mack."

"Oh, hey Mack."

"Tony, listen to me. Sosa knows you are alive, and I understand that he has recently sent numerous teams of hitmen after you, correct?"

"Yeah, so?"

"I have a confession. I have ties to Sosa. I buy coke from him every now and then."

"You do? Wait, that's great!" Tony said, now fully alert and forming a plan in his head. "If you on good terms with Sosa, then you can help me get him!"

"Tony, that's just it. I like my business partnership with Sosa. I understand your quest for revenge, and if Sosa were to suddenly perish, I wouldn't be too angry. But I can't just help you kill the main supplier of my number one product!"

"So? When Sosa's dead, his coke is mine. You get all your drugs from me!"

"But if you fail, Tony, then Sosa will either kill me, or not do business with me again. Neither option is favorable, so I'm afraid I can't help you. I've called to recommend a friend of mine to you who can. His name is Peter King. He owns a chop shop in the Everglades around Alligator Alley. The Guillotine, I believe it's called."

"Why do I want this guy?"

"As I said, King runs a chop shop, but he also dabbles in coke production and trafficking, and has his own private army of about fifty members. He's one of Sosa's rivals in the coke industry, or at least he thinks he is. I'm sure he'd be more than willing to help you bring Sosa down."

"Thanks Mack. I go check it out. Later."

"Goodbye Tony."

Tony hung up the phone and yawned. He then went behind the counter and fished around in the trapdoor for his gold handgun and a MAC-10 sub-machine gun. If King did have a private army, Tony wasn't gonna' get caught with his pants down just in case they didn't give him a warm welcome.

Two hours later, Tony found himself near Alligator Alley in his Stingray. He had discovered that The Guillotine masqueraded as a used auto dealership, and was set on a small peninsula that stretched out into an alligator infested lake. As Tony drove down the peninsula, he could see a few gators floating in the swampy waters, and even one sunning itself on a rock.

As Tony approached the yellow building that was The Guillotine, he could already hear the sound of metalworking going on inside. Parking his Stingray, he walked up and knocked on a side door. The door swung open to reveal a man wearing a protective mask and pointing a welder at Tony.

"What the fuck do you want?" the man demanded.

"Calm down _pendejo,_ I wanna see Peter King. Mack Vernhoff sent me."

"Vernhoff? Who are you?"

"Why the fuck it matter?"

"Of course, it doesn't. Vernhoff doesn't send us losers. If in fact he did send you. We'll find out. If he didn't...well, the gators have looked real hungry lately."

"So buy 'em a cake, just let me in."

The man laughed a pulled away his mask to reveal that he was in his mid-thirties, with blonde hair a numerous small burns on his face.

"I like a man with a sense of humor. I'm King, and you are?"

"Tony Montana."

"Montana? The drug kingpin? Oh shit, come in, come in!"

He stepped aside and allowed Tony in. The inside of the shop looked like a typical garage, except for the sparks flying everywhere and the buzz saws tearing through any piece of metal in sight. King lead Tony up a set of stairs into an enclosed office overlooking the shop. Once inside, Tony sat down and King poured himself a glass of bourbon.

"So Tony, what are you here for? I must say I'm quite a fan of your work, it's a shame we never got to deal during your prime."

"Mack says that you have a problem with Alejandro Sosa. I do too."

"Sosa? I FUCKING HATE SOSA!" He shouted so loud that Tony had to wince.

"Calm down, man."

"Sorry, it's just that he's a...a fucking prick! He thinks he's better than me just because he has a mansion, and a bigger army, and fast cars, and hot chicks, and..."

"No offense, _chico,_ but I doubt Sosa's even heard of you."

"Well, I'll make sure he hears about me. And I'll do it with your help, Tony! Now you say you want Sosa dead?"

"As dead as I can kill him."

"Good, then we can form an easy alliance. I must admit Tony, I'm sick of all this leadership shit. I'm much better as a follower. So if I help you fuck over Sosa, then when you get back to the top, I want to work for you. All my men and guns are at your disposal, Tony. Just say the word."

"Good, because I been thinking about doing something recently. Sosa's attacked me a few more times since he found out I still alive. Well now I say it's time I fuckin' hit him back! We'll set up a deal with some Colombians, then ambush them and smoke every last fucking one of 'em. When Sosa gets wind of it, we'll be at war, and that's just how I want it!"

"Great Tony, great! Well, I'll set up the deal then. I have spies keeping an eye on Sosa, so I've learned how to contact his dealers. I'll have it all arranged by tomorrow. Come back then and we'll show that prick that he's not number one!"

----------

The next day, King phoned Tony and told him all the details. The deal was going down at The Guillotine at 3:00 PM. All Tony had to do was be there to help shoot the fuckers. He got the gold handgun and MAC together again and drove back to the chop shop. When he arrived, he found King already waiting outside, along with two other men, one of which a briefcase full of cash, and the other had an AK-47.

"Is this it?" Tony said as he stared at the two men. "King, we don't know how many Colombians will be coming here!"

"Calm down Tony, we'll be fine. You'll see. Now, I suggest you hide yourself, because if the dealers see you, they'll know something is up and then the whole thing's blown."

Tony looked around, finally deciding to hide behind a large green dumpster to the right of the shop. Five minutes later, the Colombian car drove up, and three men got out. They walked over to King and his boys and set down a suitcase of _yeyo_. Tony couldn't hear what they were saying, until King shouted, "IT'S FUCKIN' WAR, ASSHOLES!"

At that moment, three other guys wielding AKs came out from hiding and opened fire, blowing away all three of the Colombians. The driver of the car instantly backed up, but he went too fast and drove right into the swamp. The car quickly started to sink, and the driver inside panicked and jumped out. He tried to swim back to shore, but before he could, Tony saw three dark shapes shoot towards him and he was dragged under. Moments later, torn clothes and blood floated to the surface.

"HA HA HA!" King laughed victoriously. Tony came out from hiding, realizing that his services hadn't been needed after all, although it was quite a show to watch. But as King reached of the case of coke that the dealer had dropped, a gunshot rang out over the swamp. One of King's men spun to the ground as blood spurted out of his head. King ducked for cover as he men returned fire with their AKs.

"Tony!" King shouted from behind the red dumpster he was hiding behind, "they had a sniper watching over the deal! I have a sniper rifle up in my office! Get it and smoke this fucker!"

Tony made sure that the men were keeping the sniper pinned down, and then dashed into the chop shop. He ran upstairs and into King's office. Inside, he rummaged around and found the rifle inside a locker. He readied it and then ran back outside. He fell prone to make himself as hard a target to hit as possible, and then peered through the scope. It took a few seconds to find the sniper. He was on the opposite side of the swamp, hiding behind a palm tree. Tony waited for the right moment, and then squeezed the trigger.

He saw the bullet slam into the man's arm, and he fell down. His rifle went flying from his hands and landed in the swamp, quickly disappearing under the murky water. Tony saw the man squirming on the ground, still alive. He got to his feet and cupped his hands to his mouth.

"HEY JERKOFF!" he shouted as loud as possible, "TELL SOSA THAT IT'S WAR! TELL HIM THAT HE'S DEAD! NO ONE FUCKS WITH ANTONIO MONTANA AND LIVES! "

Looking back through the scope, Tony saw the man get up and run off in pain.

"Tony, that was great man, fucking great!" King said as he admired the case full of coke. He then noticed the dirt all over Tony's clothes from being on the ground.

"Hey Tony, there's this clothing store a mile north of here call's Jackie's. The manager owes me a favor, just go down there and tell him I sent ya'. Get yourself a nice suit or something."

Looking down at his dirty clothes, Tony chuckled.

"Okay, I'll do that. See ya King."

"Come back soon Tony. We need to attack Sosa again, and quickly."

"Right. Later."

Tony got in the Stingray and drove off, trying to think of what new suit he would buy.


End file.
